Wednesday City Hall farmers market could be a turning point

I rolled my eyes when I read the press release announcing the new weeklyCity Hall Farmers Market, to be held Wednesdays from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. There are so many different markets in the Greater Houston area already –another one every month, it seems — that they can’t help cannibalizing each other and spreading the limited pool of vendors increasingly thin.

Alison Cook

French macarons, almond sandwich cookies in various flavors, were on sale at the City Hall Wednesday noon farmers market from Maison Burdisso.

There are only so many producers of fruits and vegetables, cheeses and dairy products, truly artisanal baked goods and prepared foods locally; only so many man- and woman-hours per week. What would have been a welcome (nay, visionary) gesture by the City of Houston seven years ago (when our first farmers marketswere struggling to get off the ground and thwarted by city over-regulation at every turn) now seemed, to my jaundiced eye, like too little, too late.

I had to admit that Mayor Annise Parker’s new sustainability director, Laura Spanjian, had outdone Madeleine Albright by bringing into the festive blue and white tents everyone from Urban Harvest (of Saturday’s big Eastside market) to chef Monica Pope (of Saturday’s small Midtown market at her restaurant). But there they all were, this past Wednesday midday, ringed around City Hall’s reflecting pool, the lions consorting with the tigers to the Latin beat of a live band.

The crowd moved in an instinctive counterclockwise direction beneath the live oaks, noshing and sampling and buying and picnicking like some great urban herd.

I joined them after fruitlessly circling the block several times in search of a metered parking space, then, in despair, descending into the grim bowels of the garage below Tranquillity Park, where I ultimately had to pay $5 to get free again. That was the sum total of my discontent. I could feel the skepticism begin to ebb the moment I tasted the liverwurst and pickled turnip samples Catalan chef Chris Shepherd was handing out (made from locally pastured pork, of course) there on the central plaza. Shepherd looked ebullient, and it was catching.

Alison Cook

Without prompting, attendees at the first City Hall Farmers Market moved around the reflecting pool in a counterclockwise direction.

After I purchased a hefty sourdough loaf from Slow Dough, my favorite local bakers, and nabbed a cuplet of buttnernut squash soup from chef Randy Evans, who was manning one of the special tasting booths for his restaurant, Haven, I swear the grin never left my face. That soup held hidden nuggets of cold-smoked Texas pear (a misshapen canning variety that Evans displayed proudly to interested parties), along with cold-smoked Texas 1015 onions and a few sultana raisins. It was all-vegetarian (as are many of Evans’ seasonal soups). Perfect for fall, and for the day.

Next I secured my lunch, the chief objective. Janice Schindeler, she of the epic pimento cheese, had already sold out of pre-made sandwiches at herWords and Food booth. But nearby, Morgan Weber and chef Ryan Pera of Revival Meats, the heirloom pork and charcuterie guys with a ranch in Yoakum, were turning out toasted BLTs on brioche: thick, nicely crisped slabs of bacon made from Red Wattle heirloom pigs, with Roma tomato slices and some leaves of baby arugula. Pera’s Green Goddess dressing, ringing with tarragon and a tinge a of anchovy, made the sandwich work (and would have made it work even better had there been a little more of it at the edges).

Alison Cook

Lunch on the hoof: Revival Meats, the heirloom pork producers who ranch in Yoakum, offered killer BLT sandwiches at the City Hall market for $7.

I grabbed one of their lemonades, too. On my way to a perch under the trees, I passed “Buffalo Sean” Carroll, who was beseiged by supplicants at his Melange Creperie booth, where the wait had grown to 45 minutes. Sean had his mother-in-law keeping the waiting list while he held court over the crepe griddle. I longed for one of his Swiss chard and blue cheese pancakes, but it wasn’t going to happen. Maybe next week I’ll put my name on that list early.

Alison Cook

The fall crop of chiles dazzled at the first City Hall Farmers Market.

Once fed, I continued on my counterclockwise rounds, checking out the many varieties of fall-crop chiles on display and selecting a pound of Sulawesi whole beans from coffeemongers David Buehrer and Ecky Prabanto of Greenway Coffee and Tea. They stock locally roasted beans from Max Gonzalez’s Amaya Roasting and Sean Marshall’s Fusion Beans,

and Buehrer was busy demonstrating brewing techniques and offering sample sips of Brazilian Monte Alegre to the crowd.

I scored goat’s milk yogurt with a cheerful tart tang at the Swede Farm Dairy booth, where I inspected a photo gallery of the Carlson family goats back in Waller. At the Garden of Eden tent, I bought a bag of Sylvetta arugula that had a fine peppery swagger to it, and listened to the grower explaining what arugula was to two consecutive passersby.

That may have been the moment the City Hall Market clicked for me: the downtown crowds may be reeled in by the prospect of lunch and prepared foods, like the gorgeous jars of marinated goat’s milk feta from New Caney’s Mia Bella Farm; but they may very well go away thinking differently about what they put on their tables. Our other farmers markets swarm with believers; this one is a chance to make converts, one arugula leaf at a time.

Alison Cook

Haven chef Randy Evans displays a lumpy Texas canning pear, which he cold-smoked for the butternut squash soup samples he dispensed at the market.

It’s a Johnny Appleseed situation, this City Hall farmers market, and I credit Laura Spanjian (and her boss, the mayor) for recognizing the symbolism of establishing it in a gorgeous, iconic setting. Spanjian came to Houston from San Francisco, with its extraordinary Ferry Plaza farmers and food markets–both outdoors and indoors, at the Embarcadero. The markets set a tone and a national image for that city. With the Houston City Hall market, Spanjian may have nudged city government a little closer toward institutional and cultural support of something similar. Or at least toward relaxing the reflexive don’t-do-that stance that has reigned in the past.

Marinated goat’s milk feta from the Mia Bella Farm in New Caney, on sale at the City Hall Farmers Market.

Maybe even, in time, the city will see the wisdom of modifying its overly stringent regulation of food trucks and carts, so that Houston and its rich food culture can match some of the excitement found in Austin, say, or Portland, Oregon. I visited both cities recently and envied the liveliness, both cultural and economic, of their food-truck scenes, noting that a more relaxed regulatory atmosphere has not wreaked havoc upon the citizenry.

Nor would it here. The benefits could radiate beyond our own population. Houston may never lure visitors because of its climate or scenery, but our food could — and should — be a real drawing card for tourism. The more the city can do to promote and nurture the grassroots elements of our food scene, rather than obstructing its less orthodox manifestations, the better, I say. The City Hall market just might be a step in the right direction.

Alison Cook

Why vendors were smiling: Slow Dough Bakers sold three tablesful of bread and soft pretzels; by a bit after 1 p.m., only these few loaves were left.

But even if it doesn’t turn out that way, this market could be a wonderful downtown amenity during much of the year. With a few more seating options around the plaza, the ad-hoc picnicking I saw could transform itself into a weekly festival. Or will the absurd ordinance that does not allow seating within 100 feet of a food truck ruin this social opportunity, too?

I suspect prepared foods will turn out to be this market’s economic engine; every vendor I spoke with who brought pre-made lunch items sold out well before the 2 p.m. closing time. All vowed to bring more next week.

To my surprise and pleasure, even some of the organic vegetable vendors ran though all their produce: the blackboard sign outside the Emile Street Community Garden tent had nothing but colored lines crossing through everything from autumn salad mix to purslane by the time I walked by. I paused to ogle a basketful of Costata Romanesca squash at the Animal Farm booth, their exceedingly long white necks twisting together like a goose rebus. Beside them, printed on yellow paper, was a stack of recipes and cooking hints. Shoppers eyed these outlandish squashes but seemed afraid to take them home.

That was Week 1, anyway. Who knows what subsequent Wednesdays might bring? I trudged back to my car across Tranquillity Park, where I passed Spanjian’s woebegone new “Victory Garden,” planted in shiny galvanized stock troughs and struggling through the Indian Summer drought.

Maybe this really is a pivotal moment, I told myself: the thin edge of the wedge. Or maybe it’s just a good weekly party. Either way, to my surprise, I’ll take it. The City Hall market isn’t one farmers market too many.